


Forest of Mirrors

by lecriteuse



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Cutting, Depression, F/F, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 03:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8649385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecriteuse/pseuds/lecriteuse
Summary: Mirrors reflect many things, but reflection can be a trap as much as anything.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [sqbr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sqbr) over on Imzy's (sadly, inactive) DA Femslash page. The prompt: "Bethany/Merrill, a forest of mirrors." What a fascinating prompt. I hope I did it justice!

The Eluvian, Merrill thinks, is a living thing; a person, really. Sitting there in her tiny home in the Alienage, unmoving, inert, it still has moods, has a personality. Or so Merrill fancies. Sometimes, it thrums with untapped power, pulsing like the blood in her own veins. Sometimes, it glitters, joyful, reflecting what dim daylight comes in through the holes in the roof into a hundred thousand shards of dancing light. Sometimes, it feels as broken and shattered and sad as Merrill herself.

Unlike the Eluvian, Merrill can leave the little house, leave the Alienage. She can seek out her friends in Lowtown, sit with them in the Hanged Man. She knows Anders doesn’t especially like her, Fenris even less so, but that’s all right. Merrill expects nothing more. 

Which is why it’s so lovely to know that some of her friends actually like her. And she likes them, very much indeed; they are all so wonderful. It is a deep pleasure to be with them, surrounded by their talk and liveliness. Hawke with her swagger and bravery, her flashing eyes. Isabela with her confident charm, who is so utterly fearless in her sexuality and yet so vulnerable and terrified of love that she holds Hawke at arm’s length. Varric with his effortless storytelling and his nicknames. Aveline, so strong and stoic that Merrill is in awe of her.

Lately, though, Merrill hasn’t been leaving her home much. She truly likes her friends, but all the same, there are times when it saps her energy to go into Lowtown; at least opening a vein produces power, after, and is well worth the cost. Some days, going out is draining without producing anything useful, or beautiful, or worthwhile.

So Merrill stays in, and works with the Eluvian when she has the wherewithal, or just contemplates it. Sometimes, it is so sad, dull and grey, and it tugs at her heart. Sometimes, it returns her gaze, contemplates her, measures and sounds her. Merrill wonders whether it finds her wanting.

The others visit, every so often. They might sit with her, and chat with her about news from Lowtown, or gossip about their other friends. They might bring her bread and pies and baskets of fruits and jugs of cider or wine. Once, Isabela brought a kitten for a visit, which was delightful. “A kitten for Kitten!” she said; apparently, it had been “liberated” from Anders, who had a number of cats at his clinic. Isabela had wanted to leave the kitten — “You need a little company in here, sweet thing,” she had said — but Merrill had begged her not to. This was a terrible place for such an innocent, vulnerable creature.

Besides. Merrill has the Eluvian. She doesn’t need another inhabitant in her home. Sometimes, the Eluvian is focused, a contained and singular entity. Lately, though, lately it is multiform, manifold, numberless and infinite, a forest of mirrors reflecting only itself and Merrill’s own failure to call it to life.

The visits taper off. Maybe. Merrill isn’t sure. How many days has it been? Or weeks? But it doesn’t matter, not really. Her friends, Merrill is sure, are happy and lively as ever, at the Hanged Man or out on adventures, and they do not need her. She focuses on the Eluvian, on finding its core, finding a way to awaken it to its full power, a way to save herself and redeem all the blood she has shed, all she has risked, all she has lost.

At some point, Merrill realizes that, although it has been ages since most of her friends darkened her doorstep, Bethany is still coming to visit. It isn’t much at first, or perhaps Merrill simply doesn’t notice it as much, when the others are there more often. Bethany is something of an outsider to their usual group. She doesn’t always travel with the party when they go on adventures. She is not often in the Hanged Man, playing cards and drinking and visiting. But even as the others seem to drift away, Bethany… persists.

When she visits Merrill, Bethany is not boisterous, does not try to draw Merrill into animated conversation, does not try (as the others often do) to convince Merrill to come out to the tavern. Sometimes Bethany brings a bit of food that she tucks quietly into Merrill’s cupboard, or a handful of flowers from the Hawke Estate grounds, or an armful of clean linens. She is… restful. And generous, more than Merrill deserves. And she keeps coming back, even though Merrill certainly isn’t especially good company, and can offer nothing by way of hospitality.

Sometimes, Bethany just sits with her while she contemplates the Eluvian. If Merrill is working, Bethany does not interfere, although sometimes, after, she asks questions. She does not, somehow, seem to disapprove of Merrill’s work. She doesn’t even flinch when, unthinking and unheedful of being observed, Merrill makes a quick slice into the skin of her upper arm (where there are fewer scars, for now), drawing out a thin stream of blood, to give a kick of power to the spell she is trying to apply to the Eluvian. Bethany does not comment on this, which is a relief, since Merrill hadn’t intended to draw blood in front of her; Merrill had, in fact, forgotten the other mage was even there. Instead, Bethany uses one of the clean napkins she has brought to bind Merrill’s arm, after. She sees how thin her arm is, how white and papery the skin between the earth-dark fingers of Bethany’s warm hand. Bethany doesn’t remark on this, but how could she not see it?

Merrill tries to eat a little more often, after that.

Bethany keeps coming to visit. Sometimes, she sits next to Merrill, close enough that their shoulders touch, or their hips. Bethany is very warm, soft and curved, and she doesn’t seem to mind at all when Merrill leans into her. Merrill finds herself chattering away, silly and pointless, but Bethany listens to everything, and even asks her questions about the Eluvian, about her clan, about… oh, anything and everything. And she seems genuinely interested in Merrill’s answers, even when she rambles on like an idiot.

Bethany talks too, sometimes. She talks about her brother, Carver, her twin, who was killed. She talks about hiding from Templars, and the sacrifices her family made to keep her safe. (Through it all, Merrill hears Bethany’s guilt ringing like a bell behind everything she says. It’s truly astonishing — Merrill thought that Hawke was the brave one, the strong one, in her family. But Bethany’s strength is perhaps deeper, perhaps less conspicuous, than her sister’s, than her dead brother’s.)

It feels good to talk to a person, to look into another’s eyes and see no judgement, no pity, just a benign curiosity and open friendliness. Bethany is sweet and funny, and if she has any qualms about Merrill’s way of using her magic, she gives no indication of such. 

When Bethany is there, when they are talking, and Merrill is watching the way Bethany gestures with her elegant hands as she talks, or is observing the crinkles at the corners of her eyes when she laughs… the Eluvian is quiescent. If Bethany is restful, Merrill thinks, later, perhaps she is also restful to the Eluvian.

Merrill begins to clean up a little when she knows Bethany is coming to visit. She sweeps the dust out of the corners, shakes out the linens, props the door open so that the light and the air will come into the place. If there’s something nice to eat or drink in the cupboard, she’ll put it out for them to share (even though it was almost certainly brought by Bethany herself, earlier). They break bread, split cookies in half to share, sip cider together by sharing Merrill’s only usable cup.

One day, they are sitting on the floor, where Merrill is teaching Bethany how to weave together the stems of flowers to make chains, or crowns. Every time their fingers brush, which is frequently, given the nature of their task, Merrill feels like all the little flowers spread out on the floor around them are blooming insider her chest, fluttering and opening to the sun. When Bethany says, “I’m so glad I met you,” it is as though the sun itself blossoms inside Merrill’s chest.

Bethany entwines the fingers of both their hands. Merrill stares, first at their folded-together fingers, and then at Bethany’s smiling face.

“What!” Merrill exclaims, when she gets over her moment of shock. “Why, that’s just ridiculous,” she says. “I am the one who should be glad! You coming here, day after day, and bringing me food and flowers and things, and being so kind… too kind! You are too kind, Bethany, and too good and too beautiful and too strong and too wonderful to come and sit in the dirt, in my little house, and listen to me prattle on like a fool. And… and I am a fool,” she says sheepishly, because Bethany is smiling fully and widely now, her teeth showing, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and Merrill’s heart is fluttering like a bird in a trap. She looks away, suddenly bashful. “I am such a fool. Why ever would you be glad to know me?”

Bethany laughs, and it’s such a lovely sound, like clear water falling over smooth stones. “Oh, Merrill,” she says, her voice so warm and fond that Merrill can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. But she looks up, looks at Bethany, and Creators help her, Bethany is looking at her and it is exactly, exactly the same look that Hawke gives Isabela, the same tilt of the head, the same delighted smile, the same bright eyes shining with affection.

Merrill has never been one to hesitate, not really. When she sees what is needed, she reaches for it without wavering or allowing potential consequences to prevent doing what ought to be done.

And so of course, of course she leans forward, over their clasped hands, over the flowers strewn all around them, and kisses Bethany’s smiling mouth.

The kiss is wonderful. Wonderful, like Bethany is. And Merrill is so perfectly happy that her own smile interrupts their kiss, so they both pull back just enough to look at each other. Somehow Merrill can see herself reflected, in miniature, in Bethany’s eyes, and something inside her suddenly feels whole. “You are wonderful,” she says, again and again, to Bethany, who just laughs and shakes her head and kisses Merrill again.

Eventually, Merrill makes a lovely flower crown for Bethany, who wears it when she leaves the Alienage, and later insists that she wore it all the way back to the Hawke Estate. Merrill doesn’t entirely believe her, but it’s a lovely thought.

The next time Merrill comes to the Hanged Man, after so long — not the day after the kiss, or even the week after, but soon enough — she walks in hand-in-hand with Bethany. Everyone is surprised to see them, whether because both of them have been a rare sight in the tavern for the last while, or whether because they are holding hands, or both. Merrill is full of delight to see her friends again, and chats happily to them all night long, never letting go of Bethany’s hand.

The Eluvian, though left alone much more these days, does not seem lonely, Merrill thinks. She feels she is making better progress with it, even though she spends less time working on it, or contemplating it. Perhaps someday soon, she will find a way to revive it, to see herself reflected in its restored mirror surface. But now that she sees herself whole through Bethany’s eyes, she wonders if she really needs any other mirror.


End file.
